


Terrible Things

by daydreamz618



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, One-Sided Attraction, needless angst, super short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 17:11:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10365543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daydreamz618/pseuds/daydreamz618
Summary: There is truly nothing as terrible in life as standing in a room where you feel utterly and wholly out of place. It wasn't as if their affection was overwhelming, something to be jealous of, something to make you feel as if you were never meant to see anything so intimate. On the contrary, it was cold. It was cold and artificial, and Jumin Han just really wanted to leave.





	

There is truly nothing as terrible in life as standing in a room where you feel utterly and wholly out of place. Perhaps the walls threaten you, threaten to squeeze until the single imperfection has vanished. Maybe the air itself feels incorrect, static in the wrong way as it physically rejects you, or maybe there is nothing spectacular, perhaps there’s only emptiness, a deep and unsettling cold that makes you crave any other setting. It’s worse when you can’t leave.  
Everything about the apartment was ice and unease. Anyone else could have picked it up immediately, the way that the couple sat, spoke, smiled. There were six inches between them on the couch, and much more distance in every other way. They spoke fluidly, sweetly, almost fakely about life and everything else. Anyone in the world could tell that the woman had complete control of the situation, only he could tell that the man beside her had anything to say in the first place. The conversation felt like a poorly acted play. The woman smiled, took a sip of her drink, brushed her finger over a thin gold band and said something sweet about the man. It was incorrect. Soon the man smiled, kissed her cheek lightly, arguably hesitantly, and praised her on her kindness, understanding that she had never given to him. The difference was that the man across from them had no lines, he couldn’t exit stage right, he was here, watching, participating.  
There is nothing more terrifying to him in this moment than this, infinitely more drawn out by dread than is comfortable, and equally intense.  
Then, all at once it’s ten in the evening. The glasses are discarded in the kitchen, and he’s being walked out. He almost leaves without another word, the conversation having run out moment ago, before the man calls out to him.  
“Jumin,” He inhales, hesitates for a fraction of a second before turning around, stiff smile coating his face.  
“Jihyun,” he breathes. He finally looks up, ready to meet his eyes, but he doesn’t. If they were teenagers, his friend would have a hand on his shoulder, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth while he spoke. They’d have simple goodbyes and complicated feelings and it would feel like leaving home in the morning to go to work, just like you’re going to come back, like it’s a constant. They aren’t though, and his best friend is standing just too far away. He’s tugging on a sad smile that never belonged there, and he’s looking down. He’s looking at a small yellow band that feels almost imposing here, wrong. Everything about this is incorrect and the air is empty, devoid of anything to breath for a moment, and Jumin swears he could have suffocated if he hadn’t been interrupted by a small voice.  
“Thank you,” he paused, looking up, “for supporting us.”  
He was wrong. “Of course I support you,” Only you, isn’t added. He nods.  
“Goodnight,”  
There is truly nothing as terrible in life as knowing the air will never feel right again.


End file.
